


Too Much

by autumnalecho



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 06:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20466260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnalecho/pseuds/autumnalecho
Summary: Then Crowley was guiding the angel’s wrist to his mouth, placing a tender kiss on the inside of it. He kept his lips there, against Aziraphale’s pulse, kept their eyes locked."Too much?" he whispered against the angel’s skin, a warm tickle of breath that left Aziraphale feeling a little faint.





	Too Much

_ To the world._

The angel said it with a smile so radiant that Crowley felt it throb in the empty space where a heart might be — if he ever had the need for one. He spent the rest of the meal angled in just so that every time Aziraphale leaned in to emphasize a particular part of his story, their hands brushed, knees bumped against each other. His skin lit up at every touch. 

They had saved the world. They had saved each other. 

The meal dragged on lazily, both content to linger over their food and drink. When at last, their plates were clear, and their glasses were empty, the angel delicately dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. The demon watched from behind his dark glasses, leaning back in his chair with a sprawl so languid he was practically melting from it. 

“All done?” Crowley asked, his brow taking an expectant lift.

“Yes, I believe so,” Aziraphale replied, and there was that smile again. It was warm and tender and made Crowley feel like the only being in the room. It was insufferable. 

“Right, off we go then.”

He tore his eyes away from the curve of his angel’s mouth, rising from his chair. Aziraphale followed at Crowley’s side, hands folded gently over his stomach, as they walked out into the crisp fall air. The world was still turning, and Crowley was struck by the relief of it, in being here with his friend, enjoying simple pleasures. It caught him right in his chest. He paused outside the door, let his eyes close for a moment, breathed in deeply.

“Alright, my dear?”

“Hm,” he hummed, eyes shut tight, taking in slow, deliberate breaths. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, sought out Aziraphale’s gaze and murmured, “Never better. Shall we head to yours?”

That smile again. Radiant. 

* * *

When he parked the Bentley in its usual spot outside the shop, he had to pause again, take in the sight of it completely unscathed. As though that fire had never happened. He’d seen it earlier, of course, but it was hard to shake the flames from his mind. 

After a moment, he could feel the angel watching him and turned to look back at him. 

“Never better,” said Aziraphale, reaching across to lay his hand on Crowley’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

Crowley breathed out, sharp and low. Together, they got out of the car and headed into the bookshop.

“I’ve got a case of Cheval Blanc 1947 back here somewhere. Shall we break into that?” the angel asked, but his voice was distant, eyes taking in his surroundings. Crowley could see him mentally cataloging everything around them. 

“I’ll grab it,” he offered, slipping into the back room. 

“Thank you, dear,” he heard softly from behind him. 

He returned with two glasses of wine carefully balanced in one hand, a half-empty bottle in the other. Aziraphale took a glass from him gently. They toasted again, silently this time, and drank in silence for a moment, standing in the middle of the shop. Crowley thought about pulling the angel close, tucking him against his side. He thought about having him firm and whole and real in his arms. Finally safe. 

Weariness hit him then. He was so very tired. The angel must have sensed it, because he cupped the demon’s shoulder and guided him gently, but firmly, to the couch in the back of the shop. Crowley flopped down gratefully and let Aziraphale take his glass from him without protest.

“You should rest a bit. It’s been a long couple of days.” Aziraphale was looking at him softly, eyes shining. And Crowley was too tired to think about what that expression might mean. Too tired to hope right then. 

Instead, he nodded and let himself sink into the cushions, sprawling out across the couch, all gawky limbs. His eyes were already shut, and he was beginning to doze off when he felt a blanket draped across him.

* * *

Three days from their lunch at the Ritz saw Aziraphale spending that time carefully taking inventory of the shop, mindful of Crowley’s sleeping form occupying the couch in the back room.

Crowley lay there, tucked beneath the afghan that Aziraphale had draped over him. A shock of fiery red hair fanned out against the floral patterned cushions of the couch. Even in his sleep, he looked uneasy. The thought made something twitch in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach. He was glad the demon could rest at least; even more glad that he could rest somewhere where Aziraphale could watch over him. 

He abandoned his books for a moment. Perching himself delicately on the edge of a cushion, hip brushing against the demon’s stomach, he leaned over to watch his friend slumber. He had never taken to sleeping the way Crowley did, and he was fascinated by how easy the demon made it look. Before he could stop himself, he was brushing the hair by Crowley’s ear. But then, he didn’t really want to stop himself. He could indulge, just for a little while, could let himself brush his fingers through a few more strands. 

So, he did. Lost in thought, he sat for a long time, brushing locks of hair from around Crowley’s face. 

Crowley, warm and solid beneath his hands. It filled up the broken parts inside the angel, to have him this close. He felt at home, here, on Earth, with Crowley in arms reach. 

When he made to pull back, a hand closed around his wrist. Their eyes met, held. Golden eyes staring up at him. Aziraphale could feel a warmth spreading over his face — _ and, oh, that was new. He hadn’t known he could blush_. 

Crowley studied him, eyes raptly following the blush engulfing him. Then Crowley was guiding the angel’s wrist to his mouth, placing a tender kiss on the inside of it. He kept his lips there, against Aziraphale’s pulse, kept their eyes locked.

“Too much?” he whispered against the angel’s skin, a warm tickle of breath that left Aziraphale feeling a little faint.

“I don’ —” he broke off, mouth dry. He tried to swallow, clear his throat. He opened his mouth again, and the words came out in a breathy stream, “I don’t think it’s enough.” 

Crowley surged up, letting go of the angel’s wrist to cup his face instead. Their lips met in a bruising kiss. Aziraphale gasped against the demon’s mouth, then sunk into it. He was leaning farther over the demon, knees moving to frame his hips, Crowley’s hands framing his face, pulling him in further.

“This enough?” Crowley whispered against his mouth, breath hot and ragged. 

_ No_, he thought. Now that he had this, it would never be enough. He would always, _ always need_.

“More,” is what Aziraphale managed to gasp back.

And Crowley obliged. His lips trailed down the angel’s neck, stopping at his collarbone before climbing back up towards his ear. Sharp teeth nipped at his earlobe, and Aziraphale yelped, hips pushing firmly against Crowley’s. He could feel the length of him pressing between them. It tore another incoherent noise from his throat and then Crowley was flipping them over so that Aziraphale’s back was flush to the cushions, the demon looming over him, eyes blown wide and mouth open, panting. 

He started working the buttons of Aziraphale’s vest and shirt slowly, keeping his eyes locked with the angel’s. And the angel was _mewling_. Desperate to feel the demon pressed against him again, back bowing so he could get closer to those hands working down his chest, sliding the fabric apart. 

“Crowley,” he whined, voice cracking with need.

“I know, angel,” Crowley answered, voice low and heated. He slipped the last button out of place and peeled the clothes back slowly, unwrapping the angel like a treat he planned to savor. Heat tore through the angel at the thought, his chest turning a deep pink. 

Crowley dropped the shirt and vest to the floor, then he leaned down and placed a tender kiss in the center of the angel’s chest. Fingers tangled in red hair and Aziraphale was pulling him up into another needy kiss. 

His hands slipped under Crowley’s shirt, pulling the material up and over his head. They broke the kiss long enough for Aziraphale to toss it away and then dipped back in, taking their time with deep, long kisses. 

Aziraphale was writhing beneath the demon, hips thrusting up, desperate for contact. He was coming apart just from the kissing. Then Crowley pulled back, shushed him gently when he whined. His hand trailed down the angel’s chest, tangling briefly in the soft, golden curls there and stopping at his belt. He pulled it loose quickly, eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s face. The button popped open easily under his fingers, and then he was pulling the zipper down. When he grabbed at the pants and gave them a yank, Aziraphale wiggled happily beneath him, helping him slide them down and away. 

When he was naked, at last, beneath the demon, Crowley’s eyes broke away from his. His gaze trailed down Aziraphale’s body, soaking in the vision before him. Hands glided up the inside of the angel’s thighs and stopped to caress the skin there, lovingly. Aziraphale’s chest felt tight to bursting. 

“Please, Crowley,” he breathed. Yellow eyes flicked up to meet his, then the demon slid down, lowered his head and closed his mouth around the angel’s clit.

Aziraphale bucked into his mouth, gasping wildly. The long, lean muscle of Crowley’s tongue worked him open, brought him to the edge. He was grinding his hips against that mouth, panting and groaning. Heat was pooling in his stomach, his head thrown back. Something in him felt like it was lifting higher and higher, waiting to crash or break — he didn’t know. Then Crowley pulled away, and he cried out, hips lifting to follow him. Firm hands pushed him back down.

“How about now, angel?” Crowley rasped, aiming for teasing, but the wild look in his eyes gave him away. The moment Aziraphale reached for him, he followed, leaning down to kiss the angel as he sunk two fingers inside him. 

Aziraphale keened into his mouth, legs falling open wider. Crowley’s movements were firm and hard, driving into him in a steady rhythm. Aziraphale let his head fall back against the cushions, looking up into the demon’s eyes. 

“I want to feel you,” he whispered. And Crowley groaned. The demon’s pace picked up, his thumb finding the angel’s clit. Then Aziraphale was coming. Chanting _ Crowley, Crowley, Crowley _as herode the demon's fingers through it. 

When he came back down, Crowley pulled his hand from him slowly. He yanked his own pants off and kicked them away. His cock was hard and leaking, impossibly swollen and red at the tip. Aziraphale stretched a hand out towards him.

“Can I?”

“Next time,” Crowley assured, catching his hand and tangling their fingers together. He pressed their hands down by Aziraphale’s side and used his free hand to guide himself in. 

Aziraphale had just a moment to thrill over ‘next time.’ Then he was gasping again as he felt Crowley filling him. 

“Oh, Crowley,” he moaned, hands flying up to cradle the demon’s face, pulling back down to kiss him deeply. 

Their tongues slid against each other, hot and wet, and then Crowley’s hips began to move, and Aziraphale had to break the kiss because he couldn’t stop moaning. The demon’s movements were more frantic now, the controlled pace he had when fingering the angel gone entirely at the feeling of being inside him like this. 

Aziraphale held tight to him, kept the demon pressed against him. He was lost in the feeling of it, of Crowley pounding into him, groaning against his ear. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley moaned. And the angel shuddered around him, pushing his hips up to meet the demon’s thrusts. 

Crowley’s pace quickened when he felt Aziraphale rocking back into his movements, and his hands grasped at the angel’s hips, digging in roughly. He came with a shout, forehead pressed to Aziraphale’s, eyes squeezed shut. Aziraphale watched him hungrily, pressed open-mouth kisses on his cheek, his eyes, his neck, and moved his hips slowly into Crowley, milking his cock. 

Crowley’s eyes opened slowly after a moment, and he stilled the angel’s hips so that he could pull out, hissing softly as they parted. He ran his hands up the angel’s thighs, caressing them softly again. Then he snapped his fingers, clearing their mess from them. 

His gaze returned to Aziraphale’s, and the angel sighed happily at the adoration he found in those eyes. 

“Come here, love,” he murmured, opening his arms to his demon. 

Crowley settled against him, pulling the angel tight against his chest. Aziraphale clung back just as hard. They stayed that way for a long while, kissing promises into each other’s skin, running hands reverently over one another. Safe and warm and whole; home at last with his demon at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> You're welcome for the pornography.
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [autumnalecho](https://twitter.com/autumnalecho/).


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